


Just a statistic.

by slysherlock



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes in the 22nd Century
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rape, Rape Recovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-24
Updated: 2012-05-24
Packaged: 2017-11-05 22:38:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/411758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slysherlock/pseuds/slysherlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John gets raped by Moriarty. Sherlock helps him through the aftermath</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just a statistic.

**Author's Note:**

> Please note, this is a story about rape, so if that bothers you, I encourage you to close this window and not read any further.

It happened so quickly. John was walking home from Tescos when it happened. Unfocused, with his arms filled with overflowing bags of groceries, he was an easy target. Looking back on it now, he blames himself for not expecting it. He's walking along, almost stumbling as a knife, along with an accompanying arm are suddenly upon him, dragging him back into the alleyway. John struggles against the grip until he feels the knife push harder against his windpipe.

"My wallet's in my jacket pocket. Take it, please. You can just go if you do and nothing has to happen."

John stares forward calmly and starts to repeat the same phrase when the man abruptly twists him and shoves him against the rough brick, quickly grabbing his arms and using a zip-tie to lock them behind his back.

"Make any noise and I will kill you, do you understand."

John nods his head and begins to think of a way to fight his way out of his situation when he hears his attacker start chuckling, eventually full out laughing behind him. Though he tries to shift his head around to see, he fails because of the consistant pressure of his attacker's hand, forcing his head into the wall.

"Sorry, Johnny, I just- I couldn't. You should've seen your _face._ Oh man. Johnny, Johnny, Johnny."

The familiar voice is suddenly put to a face as Moriarty pops up an inch away from his face.

"Funny position you're in, eh? I'm sure you could fight your way out of this easily, but that would just be no _fun_ , now would it? Let's play a little game. How far will the pet go for his master." 

John can't even move his jaw enough to speak, but he conveys his message by spitting in Moriarty's face. In return, he's slapped and shoved to the floor. Moriarty adds a hard kick to John's abdomen for good measure. 

"Let's try this again. Sherlock will **die** if you don't play along. Sniper fixed on him right now, in the flat. Got it?" 

John looks up at Moriarty from his spot on the floor and tries to figure out his best option. _What if he's just bluffing? What if he's not. You might die. Sherlock too. Would you rather cause Sherlock pain or yourse-_

John nods and starts to get up until Moriarty shoves him down again with his foot, liberally kicking John and giggling like a child. Then Moriarty stops and, though his right eye was starting to swell, John sees him start to undo his own pants. Why was h-

That's when John starts to realize what's about to happen and he tries to shift away, though Moriarty's foot is firmly planted on his chest. 

"Ah-Ah-Ah, Johnny boy. Sniper, remember?" 

He lifts up John and shoves him against the wall yet again, starting to grab at the waistline of John's pants. 

"Please. _Please._ This won't affect Sherlock. He won't care. He doesn't care."

Moriarty stays silent as he gets off John's belt and slides down his pants, along with his briefs. John doesn't understand how no one has seen what's happening yet. It's the _middle of the day_ , for christs' sake. John feels Moriarty pause behind him and he starts to plead again.

"I'll do anything, really, just don't kill him and don't do.. don't do _this._ Moriarty. Pl-"

John has to stop because suddenly everything is just hot, white, piercing pain. He wants to scream but finds he can't even take a breath to do so. His body was being ripped in half. 

"God, Johnny boy, you're a _tight_ one, aren't you?" 

His tone is laced with a smirk John can't see and he feels his stomach lurch as Moriarty starts moving, immediately slamming back into John, over, and over, and over. It feels like an eternity that John's being shoved back and forth across the rough brick, his wrists beginning to chafe and bleed from his attempts to get out of them. His vision starts getting hazy as the pain overtakes him, almost as bad as when he'd been shot. 

"Why are you crying when your body is telling me otherwise? Pitiful, you little, dirty, insolent **pet.** That's all you are, just a fucking pet. I don't know what Sherlock sees in you."

John starts to respond but can only find himself able to wimper as he feels Moriarty start to bite him, hard enough in some places to draw blood. 

"You like this, don't you. I should take you as my own pet. You'd like that, wouldn't you, you little whore."

Moriarty's speech sounded as if John was underwater, still present, but starting to fade. He starts slipping down the wall as he starts to feel himself losing conciousness but Moriarty doesn't let him as his thrusts start to quicken in pace. Moriarty finishes by abruptly pulling out and covering John in his cum. He's whistling as he tucks it back into his pants and walks away with a swing in his step, saying with finality, "Thanks for the great time, Johnny boy. I'll be sure to call on you again."

John can't tell how much time has passed when he finally picks himself up off the floor, pulls his pants up, and begins to walk home. He doesn't even bother with the discarded Tesco bags. Every step he takes is tinged with pain and it almost feels as bad as his limp- worse, even. John's jacket and hair are covered in dried semen and as people pass him they all seem to be openly staring at him with disdainful looks. He makes it back to the flat in 10 minutes instead of the 5 it usually takes him and his hands are shaking as he attempts to put his key into the lock. 

Once he finally does open the door, he quietly walks up the stairs, (This seemed to be the most painful thing he'd done yet) and checks the flat. Sherlock didn't seem to be in. All that John could think was just, _thank god. He won't see me like th-_

"John, is that you? What took you so long. I've been waiting for those sardines for 2 hours. It only takes 5 minutes to get there, and 5 minutes back, what sort of person takes _2 hours_ to get sardines. I mean _honestly_ John, it's a wonder how you get arou-"

Sherlock abruptly stops as he realizes that John hasn't even responded, nor has he repudiated any of his insulting remarks. He had just kept walking by, at a slow, dull pace, right up the stairs and into his bath. Something was wrong. Sherlock had about 5 possibilities, the first of which being that John started flirting with a woman who was actually a man. Most probable outcome. He needed to know.

He runs up the stairs and attempts to go right into John's bathroom, only to find that the door was locked. John never locked his bathroom door. He knew because of that time that John had told him he was "overstepping his boundaries" by trying to watch him shower. (It was for science, he claims. Male showering habits.) 

"Sherlock? I- Um. I'm trying to take a bath in peace. If you come in I don't know what I'll do to you, but I'll tell you this- I was in the army."

John attempts to add a chuckle in order to make himself sound like himself, but it comes out deflated and awkwardly high pitched. Sherlock doesn't even bother with responding but busies himself with the lock itself, picking it sucessfully in a matter of seconds. 

"John, I don't understand why you feel the incessant need to still lock your doors when I can obviously still-"

The room is silent as Sherlock takes in John's appearance. Bloody bite marks litter his exposed neck and chest, his right eye black, and his clothes are in pieces. Dried semen is obvious in his hair, and on the jacket, and John has tear tracks down his cheeks. Sherlock jumps forward and starts to rip off John's shirt but is met with John's arms flailing and attempting to tell him that he was fine. Sherlock grabs his wrists to try to be able to lift up his shirt in peace but hears John stifle a yelp, attempting to pull his wrists back to his chest. Sherlock pulls them closer and sees the red, slightly bloody rings on either wrist and angrily rips off John's shirt in one go. The sight that meets him makes his heart burn.


End file.
